Blind Unto the Day
by Millefiori
Summary: Snape ponders his history with Remus Lupin.


This story was written for the Severus Snape Fuh-Q Fest (http://www.geocities.com/snapeff/warning.html): Easy Pairing #3 - Lupin.   
  
Blind Unto the Day  
by Millefiori  
  
Snape swept into the Great Hall, glaring out at the sea of eager faces all talking and laughing, each trying to outdo their housemates in volume as they waited for sorting and feast. His head pounded, the pain already beginning to focus behind his left eye, accompanied by a familiar wave of nausea. Viciously pushing down the urge to draw his wand and cast a silencing hex on the lot of them he made his way to the table, very deliberately not looking anywhere near Remus Lupin as he seated himself.  
  
An overloud shout from the Gryffindor table made Snape wince and he gave up and pulled a vial from his pocket, dumping its contents into his goblet. He'd hoped to postpone dosing himself until after the feast, but at the rate things were going he'd soon be vomiting under the table. The potion was his own concoction, and it was the only thing that really touched his headaches, though the side effects were unfortunate.   
  
Snape closed his eyes and drained the goblet, grimacing at the bitter aftertaste. It wouldn't be long now and the pain would ease, he assured himself, pressing his fingertips against his temple. He had only himself to blame. The headache was nothing but stress and nerves, brought on by one last fruitless effort to convince Albus of his folly in trusting Remus Lupin.  
  
And Snape, of all people, knew the folly of trusting Remus Lupin. He'd been just such a fool at the age of eleven, fascinated by Lupin from the moment he'd first seen him on the Hogwarts Express. He just looked so calm, so pleasant, so...normal. His eyes and hair were brown, his skin tan, his features regular and even - the polar opposite of all the sharp angles and dramatic contrasts Snape saw when he looked in the mirror. He hadn't really meant to stare, but, it seemed the longer Snape looked at the brown boy, the more intriguing he became.   
  
He must have felt the weight of Snape's regard for he eventually looked up, right at Snape, and smiled. Embarrassed at having been caught staring, Snape flushed guiltily, cutting his eyes away and cursing himself for being so obvious. When he'd gathered his nerve to sneak another peek, the brown boy had been facing away, talking to a pair of black haired boys. After that, though Snape couldn't resist looking, he was very careful to do it surreptitiously.   
  
Snape had often wondered over the years what might have happened that first day had he smiled back instead of turning away, or even walked over to Lupin and tried to strike up a conversation. And again and again he savagely reminded himself that nothing would have happened, except perhaps his own untimely death, since there was, after all, a werewolf hiding behind Lupin's pleasant, placid facade.   
  
More shouting from the Gryffindor table drew Snape's attention and his face twisted with disgust as tried to focus on the offenders and identify who would be needing extra attention in Potions class. No doubt those odious Weasley twins, he thought sourly, wondering if this was finally the year the brats would get themselves expelled. Dumbledore should have put a stop to their nonsense long ago. But no, Gryffindors broke the rules with impunity. Rules? Why, rules were for everyone else. Gryffindors were above the rules. So arrogant, self-righteous, insolent, disrespectful and - his gaze flickered over Longbottom - incompetent. Only the hat knew why that boy had been sorted into Gryffindor. Snape certainly hadn't found in him the slightest hint of the much-vaunted Gryffindor courage.   
  
An expectant hush fell over the hall and Snape looked up to see Flitwick with the sorting hat and stool, almost hidden by the first years he was leading. Minerva must still be fretting over Potter, who was no doubt milking his run-in with the dementor for all the sympathy and attention it was worth.  
  
As the first student sat upon the stool, Snape braced himself for the inevitable bursts of shouting and cheering. He tried to concentrate as the sorting began - dutifully clapping every time the hat shrieked "SLYTHERIN!" - but his mind drifted back to his own sorting ceremony, those many years ago.   
  
Unlike many nervous first years Snape had known he'd be in either Ravenclaw or Slytherin. Snapes were always in Ravenclaw or Slytherin, and he knew enough about Hogwarts' houses to know that if the brown boy became a Gryffindor and he a Slytherin there would be no chance of friendship.   
  
When the brown boy was called, Snape had been so caught up in finally learning his name, and the opportunity to stare openly - everyone stared at the person being sorted after all - that it took a moment to register that Remus Lupin was a Gryffindor. When it was finally his turn, Snape had actually tried to bargain with the hat, tried to convince it to place him in Ravenclaw, but to no avail. And that, of course, had been that.  
  
But it didn't stop him watching Lupin; and though it caused him no end of trouble with Potter and Black over the years, he just couldn't help himself. Eventually Snape realized that he was doing it for the same reason most boys stared at girls, and he'd just assumed he was the only boy he knew who liked other boys that way. Until the night in the dungeon when he'd gone to meet Professor Philter and instead found himself alone with Remus Lupin.  
  
Somehow they'd ended up arguing - no real surprise there - and Lupin, who was smarter than Potter or Black, didn't even attempt a spell against Snape. Instead he lunged forward and grabbed Snape's wand hand, barely missing the hex that flew from the end. They struggled and Snape found himself trapped against the wall by Lupin's heavy, compact body, his wrists pinned above his head. Lupin was much stronger than he looked and he held Snape firm, his warm, scented breath tantalizingly close to Snape's face. Snape realized with horror that Lupin's nearness was arousing him.   
  
"Get off me," Snape growled, heaving his weight forward in a futile effort to throw Lupin aside. Lupin only pressed harder against Snape, an unholy smile lighting his face. Then he started moving, steadily rocking his hips against Snape's.   
  
"Oh God," Snape whimpered, staring mesmerized at Lupin's wild eyes and predatory smile. What the hell had happened to quiet, mild-mannered Remus Lupin? Had he been charmed, or hexed? Perhaps a potion?  
  
"Severus Snape has eyes like a snake," Lupin singsonged in a husky voice, twisting the old, familiar taunt into something...different...and Snape would have been frightened if he weren't so damned excited.  
  
"Severus Snape, the Slytherin snake... Are you venomous?" Lupin whispered. He raised an eyebrow, apparently expecting an answer, and Snape haltingly shook his head, never taking his eyes off Lupin's face.   
  
Lupin's eyes half closed. "Oh, good," he breathed dreamily, slowly leaning closer and closer until Snape felt soft lips on his, a wet tongue pushing into his mouth. It was indescribable; Lupin tasted wonderful and Snape couldn't get enough. He faintly heard his own whimpers and moans, but it hadn't mattered. All that mattered was that he get closer, deeper, more. Snape belatedly realized Lupin had released his hands and he promptly buried them in Lupin's thick, soft hair, using the grip to pull Lupin closer.  
  
Minerva swept up behind him, briefly laying her hand on his shoulder. Startled, Snape jerked around, immediately regretting it as his head began pounding anew. She frowned as she took her seat, giving him a sharp, worried glance. He must look as bad as he felt then. Snape tried to focus as Albus began babbling on about the dementors, but his potion-fogged mind refused to cooperate, relentlessly drifting back in time.   
  
Snape had thought about it constantly, had wanted so badly to see Lupin again, but opportunities were few, and Lupin's ever-present friends had made sure to spoil them all.   
  
But still, Snape had honestly believed Lupin was different and he'd spent almost a week walking around with his head in the clouds. He'd actually thought it meant something, Snape thought, still burning with shame at the foolishness of his sixteen-year-old self. And then they'd pulled their prank. Apparently only Potter used his head for the extra fifteen seconds needed to realize that even the Headmaster might not be able to cover up the murder of a student, though Snape had no doubt Dumbledore would have done his best for his precious, golden Gryffindors.   
  
Lupin had wanted to talk to him afterward, but Snape flatly refused. He had no desire to listen to insincere apologies, nor protestations of innocence. Snape knew what the Gryffindors were capable of and he bitterly regretted his own stupidity - years of stupidity - in thinking Lupin was any different than the rest of them.  
  
The persistent nightmares had been worse than the actual attack. They were always the same: Lupin pressing Snape against the hard, cold dungeon wall, driving Snape mad with his sweet, hot kisses and his grinding hips until the spiraling pleasure erupted and Snape sagged against Lupin's body, shaking with pleasure. Then the soft hair in his hands would turn to coarse, shaggy fur and Lupin's feral smile would become the drooling, snapping jaws of the wolf. And he could hear Potter and Black laughing from the shadows as the wolf bore Snape to the stone floor, savagely tearing at his throat. Snape would wake then, heart pounding, drenched with sweat, a wet, disgusting mess on the sheets. After a month of it Snape had taken to brewing his own dreamless sleep potion.  
  
It was too bad, really, he thought, looking back. If James Potter had been just a minute or two later that night he could've saved Snape years of misery and regret. And even better, Lupin would've been put down and Black would've been sent to Azkaban. Dumbledore would've been sacked - perhaps even sent to Azkaban himself. Snape's lips twisted into a smile, imagining the two cringing in horror as the dementors pulled them away from Lupin's bloody, headless corpse.   
  
Dumbledore's voice cut into Snape's reverie. "...Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." Snape finally allowed himself to look. And there Lupin sat in his tatty old robes, definitely older - the years weren't kind to werewolves - but just as calm and smug and self-satisfied as he ever was. Snape forced himself to look away.  
  
Potter and his revolting sidekicks were enthusiastically applauding, he noted with contempt. Would they be half so excited if they knew exactly what sort of creature Lupin really was? Dumbledore's pet monsters. The Headmaster was worse than Hagrid.   
  
At least they all saw Snape for what he was. He made sure of it, he thought, smiling thinly. Ugly face and ugly manners to match his ugly soul. He was a monster too, and he was damned if he'd try to hide it. A Death Eater had no more business teaching children than a werewolf.   
  
"...none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties," Dumbledore said, turning to beam at the squirming man as the students erupted into applause.  
  
Snape glanced over at the giant who seemed overcome by the enthusiastic welcome. There at least was one who deserved his good fortune.  
  
"Well, I think that's everything of importance," Dumbledore continued. "Let the feast begin!"  
  
And finally, a modicum of blessed silence as the wretched little beasts began to shovel food into their ever-open mouths. He cautiously turned his head and, though it still felt rather tender, the sickeningly painful throbbing had finally eased.  
  
Lupin was looking at him, Snape noticed, turning his head away. Probably wondering about his Wolfsbane. Snape suddenly felt unutterably tired. The potion was making him numb and slow, his thoughts drifting along paths that Snape, when in his right mind, ruthlessly avoided. He took a deep breath and turned his attention toward the Slytherin table, making sure all was well amongst his charges. He caught the eye of the Bloody Baron, who hovered near the ceiling. He needed to make his welcome speech to his house and get to the privacy of his quarters so he could put an end to these absurd flights of fancy. The ghost acknowledged Snape's almost imperceptible nod toward the door, then disappeared.   
  
The Baron would get the first years herded down to the Slytherin common room, and when Snape was finished with them he would take a potion for dreamless sleep - he was damned if he'd dream about Lupin tonight - and to hell with the danger of mixing the two potions; he'd just have to rely on a strong constitution to get him through the night.   
  
Or not. Snape smirked, imagining the uproar when he missed his first class and someone found his cold, dead body. How the students would celebrate, as would the staff, though the adults would likely hide it behind sad looks and crocodile tears. At least he'd have the petty satisfaction of inconveniencing them all. Albus would have a hell of a time finding another Potions master on such short notice, and Snape wished him luck finding one who could brew the Wolfsbane for his new pet.   
  
Without bothering to excuse himself Snape carefully stood and tossed his napkin onto the table, then exited the Great Hall.  
  
  
fin 


End file.
